


Frosted Tip

by Josies



Series: No Saints Without Sinners [18]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pining, Post-SR2/Pre-SR3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josies/pseuds/Josies
Summary: "I dunno—""Unlike frosted tips," she interrupts him."Yo," he does a half-frown, half-pout, something she's too fond of, "they gonna make a comeback."
Relationships: Boss (Saints Row)/Johnny Gat, Female Boss (Saints Row)/Johnny Gat
Series: No Saints Without Sinners [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/737709
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	Frosted Tip

**Author's Note:**

> So... this was supposed to be max 3k words, but I just got really into it lmao. Writing tons of essays about politics and society makes me wanna throw myself into a wall repeatedly, so uhhhh here's some PWP to counterbalance the exhaustion rotting my brain away.
> 
> Johnny's family were introduced here: [Sharin' Is Carin'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19040365)
> 
> (I've been gone a while (again 😔) bc I'm back to school and while I need to write and draw to stay sane, I might take some time between publishing new stuff, but obviously I'll always come back like seasonal depression. Meanwhile my sketch blog is hanijo @ Tumblr with some Saints Row stuff if you're interested! I haven't been too active tho and most of the stuff's pretty old, but I'm working on posting art more regularly. If you're on tumblr just come say hi in the chat or send me anon hate or whatever.)
> 
> **They have sex. It's pretty graphic. It's for adults. Don't read it if you're uncomfortable with it. I'm so tired.** 😩

* * *

**January 2011**

* * *

"So, what do you wanna do?"

Johnny stares at his reflection in the mirror in front of him, tapping his fingers against the armrest of the styling chair Doris lured him into with the promise of _maybe not stabbing him if he obeys her will_. His hair is too long and thick and it's currently sticking out in every direction. "I dunno," he responds, shrugging his shoulders a little. "What do ya think?"

Doris rakes her fingers through his hair, pulling them back and pursing her lips in a thoughtful manner. She's chewing gum and her hips sway in a light, constant motion behind him to the song on the radio. "You could stay all-black and gel 'em back," she suggests.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, like, just pull it all straight back, no part." She holds his hair in place while tilting her head to the side. "It's classy. Timeless."

"I dunno—"

"Unlike frosted tips," she interrupts him.

"Yo," he does a half-frown, half-pout, something she's too fond of, "they gonna make a comeback."

"Yeah, in your wet dreams."

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly and tries to reach for one of the two bottles of beer on the countertop in front of them, but she won't let go of his hair, making him flinch over the pain stinging across his scalp. The subtle, playful grin reaching her eyes tells him she did it on purpose.

"Man, shut up."

"No, I get it, honey," she says, patting his cheek. "Felipe had a crush on him, too."

"Somehow, I ain't surprised at all." He leans into her fingers soothing his scalp and closes his eyes for a short moment before speaking again. "Guess I'll trust you on this."

"It's cute how you say it like you got an option," she grins as she leans down to press a kiss to his temple. She runs her hands down his arms, briefly pressing the tip of her nose against his cheek, and then letting go to grab the beers, offering him the other bottle. She's tipsy and touchy, and truth to be told, he doesn't mind at all.

She drops her purple varsity jacket off her shoulders — a new design that's going to be part of the Saints' fashion collection — and throws it onto another chair as she starts gathering up combs, scissors and a spray bottle, then wrapping a black cape around his shoulders to cover his clothes. She combs his hair, sprays it with water and combs through it again.

"Yo, you ain't gonna give it a wash first?" he asks.

"You're a grown-ass man, wash your own damn hair," she scoffs.

"But what if there's product in it?" he continues in a tone that usually makes her give in, maybe even a little weak in the knees, knowing full well his hair is all clean from the shower he took in the morning.

"Sounds like a 'you' problem."

He pouts at her through the mirror. "You want me to take the glasses off?"

"You can take them off if you wanna," she says with a big hair clip between her teeth, now, while dividing his damp hair into two sections.

"How do ya know how to do this?"

"Worked at a beauty salon for a while."

"I'm startin' to seriously believe you lied 'bout your age," he declares as she grabs a pair of clippers and starts cutting his hair.

"Excuse me?"

"You've just done way too many things to be in your mid-twenties."

She shrugs her shoulders and gives him a smug smile through the mirror. "I'm a fast learner."

"You even napped for two years."

"Well, I _did_ need a little nap after everythin' I managed to do in twenty-two years."

He nods. "Understandable."

"Mom's friend had a salon in the Row," she decides to explain. "Spent one Summer sweeping up the floors, doing laundry, sometimes mixing hair dyes, you know, the easy stuff." She pauses as she removes the clip from his hair and holds it between her teeth again, redividing his hair. "Then one of the employees flipped her shit, like, left her husband and noped the fuck out at the worst possible time, so they had to teach me a year's worth of stuff in three days to cut the losses 'til they found a new employee."

"Oh, child labour," he says. "Cool."

She chuckles. "You should know."

"Mom used to say it didn't count 'cuz it's a family business."

"That is evil," she gasps, pausing what she's doing for a second to give him a shocked glance. "I love how smart your mom is."

"Yeah, I ain't surprised at all she likes you," he says dryly.

She smiles to herself a little as she continues to cut his hair. She was nervous meeting Johnny's mother for the first time a few years back, and then again a while after her resurrection. To her pleasant surprise, Hae-mi's been nothing but warm and welcoming towards her. Slightly cautious, maybe, for understandable reasons, but there's been no sign of that for months now. Sometimes Hae-mi calls her after the busiest lunch hours, just for a little chat, or asks her to come over for coffee or dinner, and it never matters how busy she might be — she always says yes. While the topics they discuss during these meetings vary, Hae-mi's brilliant at getting her to open up about things she normally wouldn't even mention. She thinks it's because Hae-mi knows about her mother.

"You know, I used to cut Felipe's hair when we barely had money for food after rent," she keeps chatting while working on Johnny's hair. "Ended pretty quick when he was high once and I gave him a nineties bowl cut."

"Please tell me you took pictures of that," Johnny says.

"Nah, he shaved his head immediately while crying like a little bitch."

He laughs. "What, you wouldn't fix it?"

"His dumb ass was too high to even consider that there could've been other options."

"As always." They fall quiet for a moment. He can smell the perfume on her wrists, her favorite one, the one she always chooses over the fifty other bottles she's hoarded. The scent he catches himself missing when they spend time apart. "Whatchu gonna do to your hair?" he asks after a song ends on the radio.

Her hands stop moving and she even stops chewing the bubble gum. She tilts her head, staring at him through the mirror. Her hair has been the same light shade of pink since they met. "You sayin' there's something wrong with my hair?"

"What? No—"

"I thought you liked my hair."

"Well, yeah, it's the perfect disguise to make your shady ass look innocent—"

"Then why do you think I need to do something to it?"

His brow knits together as he's clearly trying to figure out how he managed to get himself into trouble by asking something that seemed like a simple, innocent question to him. "I don't thi—"

"But you just said so."

"'Cuz you fuckin' said we gotta do a makeover for the photoshoot next week and—"

"Johnny," she interrupts him when he starts looking too frustrated, her lips curling into a devious smile, "I'm just fuckin' with you."

"Jesus," he huffs. "Why ya gotta do that?"

"Gotta keep 'em on their toes."

"How 'bout you stop?"

"It's funny you still can't tell when I'm not being serious unless I want you to."

"Can't see your face without my glasses."

"Baby-boy, you couldn't read me if you had me under a microscope," she laughs.

"Well, you're an impossible fuckin' enigma," he grumbles.

"You're adorable."

He sighs deep, sinking into the chair. She finishes cutting his hair while humming along to the songs on the radio. He can't really see what she's doing without his glasses on, everything appearing blurry in the mirror, but he can feel her chest and arms brushing up against his shoulders, and her nails scratching the back of his neck when she blow-dries his hair, sending shivers down his back.

As she turns off the dryer, her phone rings and she hops up on the countertop, grabbing her beer and kicking her high heels off to give her aching feet a break. He puts his glasses back on, pretending to flip through some magazine while watching her; the way she flips her hair when she laughs, how her purple lips part just a little bit when she concentrates on listening to someone speak, and how she swings her legs slowly back and forth. He touches her ankle, slides his hand up her calf, and her legs stop swinging, but she doesn't look at him, doesn't pay attention until his fingers start pulling her thigh-high stocking down in a sudden urge to touch her skin. She purses her lips at him quickly, simply thinking that he's bored and therefore wants her to get off the phone.

"Honey, I gotta go, there's an impatient child waiting to get my attention," she says to the person on the other end. "Yeah, it's Johnny."

"Yo, who you talkin' to?" he asks with a frown, demanding to know who needs to get their ass kicked.

"I'll tell him. See you on Sunday, _querida_." She throws Johnny a glance immediately after hanging up. "Jenn said you left your pacifier and blankie at her house."

He pulls a face and tosses the magazine next to her. Ever since his sisters became grossly infatuated with Doris, he can't get a break from them. His baby sister he doesn't mind, but the twins are driving him to an early grave. "Man, fuck you both," he replies. "And whatchu mean 'see you on Sunday?'"

"It means I'm gonna see your sisters on Sunday," she explains helpfully.

"Why you gotta see ‘em all the time?"

"What's your problem with that?"

"My problem is that every time you see ‘em, you come up with another plan on how to make my life miserable together."

"Oh no, is little Johnny getting bullied?" she asks in a mocking baby voice. "Do you want me to get your phone so you can call Mommy?"

"Don't bother, she's part of your Mean Girls cult," he huffs as he folds his arms over his chest.

She laughs at his moping while finishing her beer and taking her rings off before she starts adding product to his hair. She takes her time perfecting his new style, carefully arranging every strand of hair into its own place and letting him get over his temper tantrum in peace.

Once she's done, she grabs a mirror and holds it in an angle behind his head. "You like it?"

"Yeah," he says, nodding slowly while turning his head from side to side, "maybe a li'l bit more gel."

"Let's not overdo it." She runs her fingers along his jawline. His stubble tickles her fingertips. "You planning on growing a beard, too?"

"Didn't have time to shave."

"I could get rid of it for you," she offers. Her hand runs down his neck to his shoulder. As delusional as she is about what she wants from their relationship, some days the urge to touch him is almost unbearable. Today's one of those days.

"Yeah, I think I deserve some pamperin'," he says, leaning back into a comfortable slouch.

"What else would your self-indulgent ass possibly think," she responds as she ventures off to look for the equipment she needs.

"Just get on with it, woman, I ain't got the whole day."

She slaps the back of his head to avoid messing up his hair, pulling a string of complaints out of him. Her feet still ache and she kicks her high heels off again, circling between the chair and the countertop to straddle his lap. There's not enough room for her legs on the chair and it's definitely not the most ideal position for what she's doing, but it's more than ideal for the intimacy she's craving for.

"Yo, I ain't wearin' my lap dance pants," he says with a familiar drop in the tone of his voice.

She snorts. "You wish you were getting a lap dance."

"Well, I mean, you gave me one the other night."

"Shut up."

"And the night before that."

"Just so you know, I haven't done this in years," she warns him while finishing covering half of his face with shaving cream and picking up a razor, "and I'm kinda drunk."

"That's reassurin'."

She purses her lips at him. "Big man scared of little blade?"

"In your hands?" he asks as his eyebrows rise. "I'm a man enough to say I'm terrified."

She giggles, but doesn't say anything, focusing on the task at hand, and just to be safe, he keeps his mouth shut for a minute or two to let her run the blade on his skin without disturbing her.

"You learned this at the salon, too?"

"Dad taught me, actually," she says. "He thought 'a woman should know how to shave her man.'"

"Old school?"

"Yeah," she rolls her eyes a little to herself, "and it was an excellent opportunity to teach me how to make someone bleed to death quickly, and how to make it last long, so that the last thing they'll see is my face while they pray for their suffering to end. Purely for personal enjoyment, of course."

There's a bitter hint to her voice, something he hears often when she mentions her father, but at the same time, she sounds nostalgic. He gets it.

"That's fuckin' disturbin', but kinda sweet."

"That's my dad," she says, stretching out the last word. "I was maybe ten."

"Holy shit."

"Gotta start young."

He nods a bit, trying to be careful with the blade grazing his skin. "I hear ya."

"Oh, yeah — helping your mom out at the family restaurant, being taught how to torture and assassinate people," she says. "What's the difference, really?"

Johnny laughs and her hand slips a little, almost leaving a cut on his neck, right below his jaw. He stops breathing for a second.

"Shit," she mutters.

"Sorry."

"You trying to make me cut you?"

"You think I'm lookin' to get my throat slit?"

She moves her gaze up to his eyes and he recognizes the look — it's the kind she has when an idea pops into her pretty head that, once put into effect, could either result in something fantastically wicked or someone's death. Or both. "Guess it's bad I kinda wanna do it anyway."

"I'm puttin' a lot of trust in you here, you know."

"I know that if I pushed the blade through your skin right here," she presses the razor gently down on his neck, right over his pulse, "you couldn't do a thing. You'd just feel massive panic and fall unconscious in seconds."

"Yea, let's not do that," he says slowly, like no matter how much he trusts her with his life, there's always that nanoscopic chance of her just going ballistic at any given moment. It _does_ keep him on his toes.

"Just the tip, baby," she says teasingly as she eases off the pressure, but doesn't move the blade away.

"Yo, you usin' my own words against me?"

"Now you know how it feels."

His hands move to her thighs, fingers tracing the lines of her tattoos peaking above the stockings. "You tryna make me hard?"

She gives him a coy smile. "Maybe." 

"Well, it's workin'," he says as he tries to pull her hips closer to his own.

She slaps his arm with her free hand. "Keep it in your pants, Gat." 

"Hey, you started it."

"Doesn't mean I have to finish it."

Johnny grabs her wrist, bending her hand back, forcing her to unclasp her fingers and drop the razor. It falls down to the floor with a sharp noise. She stares at him, not blinking, or moving, or breathing; nothing she's experienced in her life has ever compared to how it makes her feel when Johnny makes her do things, and that much she can admit to herself.

On the contrary to her own words, she's dying to finish it.

"You know," he says in his lowest tone, "I got one tip you could frost."

She closes her eyes, sighing quietly through her nose. "How long did it take you to come up with that?"

"Twenty minutes, give or take."

"You're so pathetic."

"Only for you, baby," he smiles in an unusually charming way.

She giggles at his playfulness, secretly adoring the giddy feeling it sets off in her. He's become more relaxed over time, instead of grim and angry, and even though the progress has been slow, she's happy to see him feeling better about life.

His hand slides up her thigh and under her pleated skirt, coming to a quick halt as he realizes he can't feel any underwear. "Oh," he grins, "you bein' a naughty girl again?"

"I'm a busy woman," she corrects him. "Sometimes I forget stuff."

He yanks her closer, now, pulling her legs under the armrests and making her land on his lap, enjoying the small gasp that leaves her throat. "Funny, when I ain't wearin' underwear, you get all snappy at me."

"That's 'cause you always go commando when you’re wearing sweatpants and everyone can see your dick, you freak," she points out, while trying not to lose her mind over how badly she wants to grind his hardon through his jeans. The way he's so unapologetic and honest about wanting her is something she can't get tired of.

"I got sensitive skin, gotta air things out."

"Freak."

"You jelly?"

She gives him a look while grabbing a towel to wipe the remains of the shaving cream off his face. She didn't quite finish shaving his stubble, but she couldn't care less about his spa day anymore. "Of what?"

"It's okay if ya want it all for yourself, you know," he says as he traces her curves under the skirt with his fingers, physically aching to move his hand between her legs, to find out if she's already pooling up for him.

"I don't."

"So, you won't mind if I go on a date with that girl who’s been askin' me out, then?"

"First, her name's Becca," she says, throwing the towel somewhere behind him, "and second, she's your fuckin' stalker, Johnny."

"At least I already got myself a stalker."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause as a woman I haven't had them my entire life."

He shrugs. "She's still cute."

"She slashed your tires and left a letter on the windshield with twenty-seven pages about how you can make up for your “betrayal,” a guest list for your wedding, and three fuckin' fingernails," she reminds him, "all because she saw you with your arm around my shoulders. You gotta be special kinda crazy to date that."

"Thought you just called me a freak."

"You _are_ a freak for talking about her when I'm on your dick," she states with her voice rising with every word.

"You said you don't want my dick for yoself, though." 

"Then what the hell you doin' now askin' me stupid-ass questions?" she snaps at him, finally slipping fully out of the more polished way of speaking she chose to go with while carefully constructing her own media persona.

"Maybe I don't wanna ruin what we have by hurtin' your feelings," he replies out of the blue. He enjoys their endless bickering, but he knows when to stop vexing her when he wants something, not to mention she always blinks in a cute way for those two baffled seconds it takes her to get a grip on herself whenever he says something she doesn't know how to process.

As predicted, her face softens, and the blinking's there, too, but she proceeds to pinch his arm painfully. "New rule," she announces, unfazed. "No talking 'bout feelings and crying like li'l bitches."

Johnny laughs despite of the nasty sting she left on his arm. Maybe she _is_ right calling him special kind of crazy, since he's aware there's an evergrowing amount of people who would be perfectly fine with her rules if it meant they got to have regular sex with her without any other bonds aside from the most loyal friendship they could ever find. Being best friends with benefits with the Boss herself surely sounds like a dream come true — in theory.

"Especially not when I wanna get laid," she continues. "That's just a mood killer."

"You know, I'm thinkin' you “forgot” to wear panties today so you could grind my dick all wet," he changes the subject to move faster towards his goal while simultaneously making her think she's getting her way.

She sucks her lower lip between her teeth to bite down on it, until she gives in to what they both clearly desire, and drops her hands down to his lap, fiddling his belt and jeans open. Usually, she's good at restraining herself to keep his ego from skyrocketing, but it's Friday, she's feeling frisky, she has a perfect amount of alcohol in her blood, and she hasn't been able to keep their mid-week stress release session from the other night out of her mind since she woke up in the morning.

"See?" he grins as she puts her feet down to the floor and stands up to pull his jeans down to his thighs while he lifts his hips just enough. "Got you all figured out."

"Shut your mouth, push your hips forward," she orders, "and grab my tits."

"Shouldn't talk so rude 'bout my mouth," he says, but still does as he's told, sliding his hand under her shirt to cup her breast. "You love my mouth."

"I don't," she says as she sits down on his lap again and starts rolling her hips slowly, looking for the right angle and sighing when she finds it. "It's useless."

"Yeah, that's the stuff," he laughs, slapping her butt a little too hard with his other hand. "Degrade me more, baby."

"Johnny, I'm tryna get off here," she sighs and moves a hand under his shirt, too, running it over his abs and up to his chest, pushing him harder against the chair and making him groan as she spreads her wetness along his shaft with every quickening movement of her hips.

"Just say it."

"What?"

"That you love my mouth."

"No."

"I got fifteen minutes left to live, you wouldn't tell me you love my mouth?"

"Absolutely fuckin' not," she says as her breathing turns heavier and her hips roll into his faster.

"Even if I spent those fifteen minutes eatin' you out?"

She rolls her eyes while throwing her arms around his neck to grab a hold of the chair for better support. "Figures that's what you'd do with your last minutes."

"So unappreciative."

"You're so goddamn lucky I'm used to you being unable to shut up when you're gettin' laid."

"Think I'm pretty lucky in lots of ways," he moans low, compelling her to thrust her hips into his harder.

"Keep a lookout," she says as she leans in to kiss his neck and run her tongue along the lines of his tattoo. There shouldn't be anyone around on a Friday evening, but the chances of someone walking in on them still aren't zero.

"You seriously think I can concentrate on somethin' other than you 'boutta start moanin' on my lap?"

"You're so hard," she breathes into his ear, "it's your fault."

"Yea, that's all your fault, angel," he replies, touching her body all over and loving the feeling of her on his lap. She could make him come just by looking at him the right way and, to put it mildly, he's utterly obsessed with the chemistry between them.

Doris leans her forehead into his, panting heavy with her mouth slightly open, like she's taunting him for not being able to kiss her despite of how close their lips are, not expecting to feel his tongue touching her lower lip. She slams her hand to his chest, pushing herself away from him, and then grabbing a sturdy, scolding hold of his chin. "That's cheatin'," she damn near hisses, mad at him for interrupting her.

"Never claimed I play fair," he grins.

She lets go of his chin by shoving his head to the side. "You can consider yourself extra lucky I need to cum really fuckin' bad right now," she says as she returns to her fast pace.

"Yeah? You gonna grind my dick 'til you cum?"

"Uh-huh," she slips a hand between them to press his cock tighter to her slit, moaning at the feeling of the glans rubbing against her, "and since you can't play by the rules, I'm gonna leave you to take care of your own needs all by yourself."

"You think that's a smart move?"

"You think you got shit to say to it?" she raises her voice.

"Think it's you who talks a lotta shit for someone who's pussy I own," he says with way too much arrogance in his voice, getting her to slap him across the face straight away.

Johnny works his jaw, chuckling quietly with an amused grin tugging at his lips for a second. Outside of their sexual activities, he doesn't really bring up the way she lets him do basically whatever he wants with her after some objecting, and even then she only protests and sometimes slaps him out of wanting to provoke him further. Turns out she enjoys being dominated, specifically by him, and he's very much into fulfilling her wishes, not to mention a little pain spicing things up.

He pushes both of them up and off the chair, landing her on the countertop behind her. As he doesn't want to kneel down with his bad knee, he throws her leg over his shoulder and lifts her hips up, wrapping an arm around her thick thigh and sliding his other hand up her back to support the weight of her body.

Doris barely manages to prop herself up on her elbows when he's already pressing his hot tongue to her slit, licking his way up to tease her by kissing her clit, sucking it between his lips and rolling his tongue around it. She moans at the sight, resisting the urge to grab a domineering hold of his hair and ruin the perfection she created. She's already too sensitive and she can feel the texture of his tongue continuously lapping at her.

"Finger me," she breathes, and a Spanish curse slips from her mouth over how fast his hand moves from supporting her back to his fingers entering her. She throws her other leg over his shoulder, too, knowing she won't be able to support herself on her elbows for long.

Matching the speed of his tongue and fingers, he gets her back to arch and her hips lifting closer to his mouth. She thinks she can hear noise in the corridor over the radio, but Johnny giving her twice the pleasure has her at the point when, no matter what happens, it's too late to stop herself from coming — her nails carve into the wood under her and she accidentally slams her heel between his shoulder blades.

Johnny holds her tighter and he moans at the feeling of her whole labia quivering uncontrollably against his mouth. He keeps licking and kissing her, until his own need for release gets too much, leading him to drop her down and shuffle his pants out of the way. Her thighs clasp together and he has to pry them apart, pulling her to the edge of the countertop, lining himself up and sliding inside her with her muscles slightly gripping him. He moans at the hot and wet feeling surrounding him, and he thrusts in deeper, making her whimper and clasp her thighs tight around his hips. He pulls almost fully out of her and thrusts right back in. She whimpers louder.

"That's for actin' like you'd ever pass up on an opportunity to have my cock inside you," he says, leaning in closer to her. "We both know you crave for it every fuckin' day."

"You're a funny, funny man for thinkin' I'd settle for one dick," she replies with all the spite she manages.

"It ain't just that, though," he grins. "It's my hands," he says as his hand sneaks up to cup and massage her breast through her bra, while using his other hand to scratch the soft skin of her thigh with his short fingernails, "mouth and tongue," he continues, leaning down to press a wet kiss to the fleur-de-lis tattoo on her neck, then licking his way up to her ear to bite down on the lobe, making her gasp softly, "and teeth, too."

If she told him he needs to _stop being so goddamn arrogant_ , he would tell her that she loves it in turn and he would be right, because having sex with him is always a full experience, and she would hate that more than not saying anything.

She grabs his shirt and pulls herself to his chest, running her hands down his back and into his pants, trying to move them out of the way to grab a better hold of his ass, while kissing his neck, and moaning and breathing hard into his skin. She moves her hips as much as she can in her position to meet his thrusts, giving him too many unbearably pleasurable sensations at once. He pulls out of her and she wraps her fingers around him quickly, finishing him off with her hand and cupping the head into her palm to prevent him from making too much of a mess. She keeps gently rubbing him against her palm while listening to his moans quiet down, until his fingers wrap around her wrist, telling her to stop.

Johnny leans his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror behind her, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down and his heavy breathing to steady. He likes the way they never separate right after finishing, though there's not necessarily any cuddling involved, but just letting their bodies stay close to each other, keeping the connection alive for a little while longer. She usually draws stuff on his back with her nails, or whatever bare batch of skin she can find, and that's enough.

Doris, on the other hand, likes the way he seems to want to make sure she comes before him. Whether it's his clever plan to keep her coming back for more, or if he really just is that considerate when it comes to sex, she's still not sure, even if she probably should have figured that out by now.

Whatever it is, though, it's working.

"So," he breaks the silence, "you gonna finish shavin' my beard?"

"Shut up, Johnny," she sighs into his shoulder. "Should be enough I frosted your tip."

"Pretty sure I was doin' all the work while you just laid there."

She chuckles at him finding the perfect opportunity to use their inside joke that started from her saying the same to him while rolling him out of the hospital to save his ass from the Ronin. "Pretty sure you didn't finish me off," she says.

"Oh, comin' once ain't enough for Your Highness now, huh?"

"I ain't no man," she scoffs. "One orgasm just makes me angry."

"Can't really see how your tiny ass could possibly be any angrier," he says and she smacks his arm remarkably fast, making him wince and click his tongue. "It ain't a quickie no more if you cum more than once."

"Quickies don't have foreplay."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure there's an alternate reality somewhere where it's possible to fuck you without foreplay, but this ain't it," he responds, earning another, harder smack at his arm. "Yo!"

"You're an ass."

"I made you cum hard enough, you'll survive a few hours."

She pouts in her adorable way. "It's your fault if I don't."

"You cute when you greedy." He wipes shaving cream off her cheek with his thumb and drops his hand down to the countertop, leaning in closer to her. "Got any plans for tonight?"

"We could go pop some bottles," she suggests, "and models."

"I dunno," he says, "you made me look so hot, might be dangerous if you wanna keep this arrangement goin’."

"Modest as always."

"Says you."

"I got all the reasons, baby-boy," she says with so much confidence she could make him believe anything.

He chuckles. "You ain't wrong," he replies with his voice dropping dangerously low again.

Just to humor herself, she watches him slowly leaning in even closer, bringing his face only inches away from hers, testing her limits. She presses a finger into his chest when she feels his breath on her lips. "Please remind yourself of the new rule _and_ the previous ones."

"It ain't a real rule."

"Oh, it most definitely is," she says, pushing him off and hopping down to the floor. She straightens her clothes while walking up to a sink to wash her hands, pretending like being so close to him doesn't drive her wild.

He turns around to lean his back against the countertop, watching her bend down while looking for a fresh towel. "Not 'til you get my consent."

"Bitch, I don't need your consent 'cause I don't wanna ruin good sex with sentimental bullshit," she scoffs.

"Then it ain't a real rule," he says in a childish tone, which would be cute if it didn't annoy her so much.

"Shut yo stupid ass," she snaps at him while grabbing her shoes off the floor, then motioning at the chair and the area around it, "and clean up this mess."

"You clean up _this_ mess," he motions at his groin, which she responds to by throwing the towel straight at it.

"Just do it!"

"I ain't no maid."

She’s walking to the door, now, but she spins around to point a finger at him. "You're gonna wear a maid outfit by the end of this night," she announces.

"You can't make me."

"You’re gonna wear the outfit and your knees are gonna look like you've been cleaning the floors all night long tomorrow."

"Actually, that sounds kinda kinky," he says after a short pause, either having realized that the pleasure aspect of the roleplay could be greater than his need to keep his pride, or that agreeing with her threat is just another fun way to fuck around with her. "I like it."

She closes her eyes with a sigh as she turns around towards the door again. _"Ay, Dios mío."_

"Where you goin'?"

"To get more beer and a well-earned break from your bullshit."

"Better come back and finish what you started!" he shouts after her.

"I'm coming back to finish your fuckin' life if you don't shut up!"

Johnny laughs at her voice somehow turning louder the longer she yells in the corridor as she moves further away from the room. He grabs his beer, finishing whatever's left in the bottle as he leans his back against the mirror while thinking about which fast food joint would top his currently perfect mood, before Doris drags him to a party, and maybe even planning on initiating a second round on the restaurant's parking lot, knowing she won't be able to resist the thrill of possibly getting caught, which could in itself lead to her forgetting about the party altogether.

In the end, though, whether they go or not doesn't really matter that much. As much as he's always detested social events, he's found himself feeling indifferent about them lately, as long as Doris is there — he wants to make sure she stays safe while drinking and dancing to her heart's content, that she's happy and having fun, and that she makes it home safely at the end of the night, or in the morning, or whenever she's done breaking hearts and wrapping the media around her finger.

He just wants to be near her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for all the support this year and happy holidays, see you soon again!! 🎄💝💋


End file.
